


Refitting

by jellybeanfactory



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-03
Updated: 2008-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanfactory/pseuds/jellybeanfactory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite Gwendal's reluctance, Gunter resumes one of his political duties in Yuuri's absence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refitting

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to MD for the beta, and to Glitteringloke for kindly pointing out an inconsistency with regard to Gunter's choice of clothing.

Shin Makoku had two unofficial rules regarding international negotiations:

If the other country needed intimidating, they sent in Lord von Voltaire.

If the other country needed just that little bit of a nudge in the right direction, they sent in Lord von Christ.

There was a third unofficial rule, but they very rarely needed Yuuri's vapid charm these days. Especially since he wasn't there.

Today was a second rule sort of day -- Celadonia, a medium-sized nation on good terms with Caloria, was having second thoughts on joining the alliance with Shin Makoku. They called for a representative to speak with, that they might iron out some grey areas typical of a commerce-based country. Despite Caloria's full support, one must keep its businesses, after all.

Conrad was made aware of this when he went to Gwendal's office, looking for Gunter. Gwendal had growled disapprovingly while he kept scribbling on the parchment occupying his blotter -- a sure sign that something was occurring that he highly disagreed with. He made the exact same sound whenever Yuuri went on another one of his self-righteous streaks. "He's tarting himself up," was the annoyed reply, and Conrad excused himself after that. His brother called out a quick, "Tell him he's twenty minutes late!" before he managed to close the door.

Gunter's door was open. He lingered at the doorway, feeling his breath stop briefly in his throat. He knew he should have been more prepared, having sometimes seen Gunter leave on these same missions years ago, but the passage of time had dimmed his memory.

His old teacher was a vision. That silver hair, often worn loose and hanging well below his back, was piled on top of his head in a series of loops and twists, meeting at the back where a bejeweled hairpiece gathered it all in a neat bundle. The remaining portion spilled from the hairpiece toward the nape of his neck in straight, satin-like columns. His lips were lightly rouged, just a dab of reddish pink that made them glisten and look delectable. Gunter had swept his bangs along with the rest of his hair so that it was away from his face, and though he added nothing to his eyes (he was often careful of such things, Conrad recalled, for he had a great fear of losing his vision before he became too old to make further use of it), the absence of his bangs made the purple color of his irises stand out all the more.

Conrad didn't know why the mere act of sweeping his hair up made Gunter's neck look so elegant, but such aesthetics often escaped him. Free from the cover of his hair, that neck appeared long and thin, encased within a tight, high collar, the opening at the front dipping toward the top of his chest and framing the entire length from chin to the base of his throat. Conrad reluctantly veered his attention away from Gunter's face (currently wearing an expression that was becoming more and more puzzled) to take a good look at his outfit--

Oh dear.

He was wearing the charcoal one.

Conrad had only seen Gunter wear it once, and he was a little ashamed to say it figured quite often in his dreams several weeks after. It was a tight-fitting long-sleeved, charcoal robe, covering most of Gunter's front, and though it might appear rather conservative at first, it hugged his former teacher's torso sinfully and effectively showcased his lithe figure. The effect was oddly effete without being emasculating. The lower portion of the robe opened from a slit at the left thigh in a cascading series of layered, dark, heavy fabrics -- keeping those long legs hidden from view, except for a teasing glimpse of pale, smooth skin now and then when Gunter moved. It afforded him with a brief view of a tall, stylish black boot that ran up the length of one pale leg, barely reaching the knee.

It harshly reminded Conrad that Gunter was beautiful when he wasn't trying, and devastating when he was.

He felt a little sorry for Celadonia. They would never know what hit them.

Gunter was watching him with an apprehensive and puzzled glance. He wondered how long he'd been staring, to warrant such an expression. After closing the door behind him, Conrad entered farther into the room, saying, "I haven't seen you wear that in years."

The spell was broken when his former teacher let out a very undignified wail. "The hem is trailing behind me!" he exclaimed, rushing to where Conrad was standing and pausing to turn, gesturing frantically to where the hemline skirted across the floor. "I think I shrunk!"

Conrad was about to reply in his customary placating fashion, but as soon as Gunter turned, his voice got stuck in his throat (he was vaguely aware that he might have uttered a sound resembling "Guh," but sincerely hoped he hadn't). One feature of that robe that he had forgotten -- and was now blatantly reminded of -- was that it also showed a rather generous portion of Gunter's back. The opening was a reversed teardrop-shape -- wide at the top and tapering downward. It was a look that invited touch, and Conrad felt an inexplicable urge to do just that, finding that little dip at the small of Gunter's back particularly tempting.

"The cloth's probably just old," he managed to say, after a hard swallow. "We might need to call the tailors and have you made a new wardrobe, if this keeps going."

"Gwendal already sent for them." Thankfully unaware of the state he'd put his former student in, Gunter swept back to where he'd been standing, in front of a full-length mirror mounted on the wall of his bedroom. He raised his arms to reach behind his head and fuss over the hairpiece, bowing a bit to get a clearer view. "I don't know why he bothered, we can just send my old ones back to be refitted."

"You know how he gets." Conrad walked over to where Gunter was and settled himself beside the mirror, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Gunter just grunted affirmatively -- some stubborn clump of hair occupying most of his attention. Conrad was content to just watch him for a while, the outfit tickling something loose from his hazy memory.

It was when Gunter had just finished niggling with his hair and had moved on to attach a pair of silver earrings that he remembered. "You last wore this when you went to the von Bielefeld's with Mother," he said, his tone affecting the statement with a note of inquiry.

"Did I?" Gunter's gaze turned introspective for a moment, chasing after the same memory. His eyes widened. "I did!" A dark frown settled on his face as he took a step back from the mirror to take a good, long look at his outfit. "Well, now I don't want to wear this anymore. Should I change...?"

"No!" Conrad found himself suddenly exclaiming, the urgent tone surprising them both. He cleared his throat. Gwendal would kill him, seeing as how late Gunter already was, though a tiny, selfish voice within muttered that he just wanted to keep watching Gunter in those robes for a while longer. "No, it looks wonderful. What happened with the von Bielefelds?"

Gunter's frown deepened. He returned to attaching his left earring while he spoke. "That trip had been...unpleasant. I could have handled it on my own, but Lord Stoffel insisted on coming along. Then he dragged Lady Cheri, and then there was this issue with Wolfram--oh, it was horrible!" He hesitated a bit while fiddling with his right earring, as if unsure whether to continue or not. Eventually, he began hooking the remaining jewelry and said, in a smaller, embarrassed tone of voice, "And one of the dignitaries felt me up."

Conrad blinked. "What?"

"One of those horribly spoiled cousins -- Dovely, Dunny, Duncey, or whatever his name was. He kept offering me wine, and then at dinner, there was his oily hand sneaking up my leg. When I kicked him under the table, he started _yelling_ and making a scene --" Gunter abruptly paused when he caught sight of Conrad's expression. "It's not funny! Conrad!"

"I'm sorry."

Unfortunately, the words were out before Conrad could fully reign in his mirth. Gunter looked scandalized. "The von Bielefelds almost pulled out their army from Blood Pledge that day!"

Feeling a bit more confident that he had his laughter under control, Conrad tried again. "No, really, I am. Sorry."

Gunter looked more convinced this time, though he still pouted at his former student. "I suppose it all does seem funny now," he acquiesced, turning his attention back to the mirror, "but it might take me a few more years before I can find those times amusing."

The last was said without ill intent, but Conrad still felt a little guilty. He'd been immersed in his own pain at the time, and had little interest in the particulars of the events surrounding him. He had heard most of what he knew from Gwendal, who had been very troubled with the way Stoffel had shamelessly wielded both Cheri and Gunter whenever he needed to placate a country he'd offended. And there had been many, many countries to placate. Cheri had quickly abandoned the role when she stepped down as Maou, and Gunter would have as well. But all the international issues suddenly fell on Gwendal's overworked and war-weary head, so Gunter had volunteered to continue in this line of work, despite Gwendal's fervent protests.

It had also taken a fair bit of convincing this time around. His brother had tried to shoulder all of the negotiation talks outside of Shin Makoku in Yuuri's absence, and had left the domestic ones in Gunter's care. But now that the skirmishes were diminishing, the need for Gwendal's specific brand of diplomacy was also waning. Two failed assemblies later, Gunter was in Gwendal's office, insisting that he share more of his political burden. Although Gwendal put up a decent fight, he'd soon realized the wisdom in Gunter's suggestion after he came back from a third unfortunate conference, wherein he'd made the king of an outskirt human nation cry.

Looking at his teacher now, however, Conrad thought Gunter was looking a lot less certain that this was the wiser course of action. He wondered if the choice of dress was more to inspire confidence than anything else.

As if reading his line of thought, Gunter said, "I haven't done this in a while." He reached for a brush on a nearby vanity and started running it through the tail-end of his hair, his strokes measured and even. "I fear I'm a little rusty."

"I'm sure it's just like riding a horse," Conrad said, bemused. Gunter being uncertain of his abilities was a rare sight.

His former teacher gave him a fond smile. "Will you escort me to the docks today? Gwendal looked quite busy with his paperwork earlier."

Conrad grinned. Much as Gwendal might scowl or growl or shuffle his papers about, he had never really failed to see Gunter off in the past, and he doubted he would today. "Of course," he replied, his smile gaining a mischievous edge as the door opened to admit the man in question. "Though he doesn't appear to be quite so busy at the moment."

"The ship's been ready for you for the past thirty minutes." Gwendal's annoyed greeting was dampened when he paused in front of Gunter and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. His left hand settled on the small of the other man's back. "You look beautiful."

Gunter sniffed. "You only say that when I'm about to land you another alliance."

"Technically, you're landing His Majesty another alliance."

"Well, that's all right then."

"Thirty-one." Gwendal stilled Gunter's hands and removed the brush, placing it back on the dresser.

Gunter made a grab for it, but his brother had swept the brush out of reach. "It's not like the boat can leave without me!" he whined, while batting Gwendal's hand away.

"Your hair's fine. Their ports close at nightfall, so if you don't leave now--"

Conrad felt distinctly excluded, but he just smiled and remained silent while the two of them bantered. Gunter and his brother had been doing this for years, and he'd never really been privy to it apart from stray news and gossip, as well as a glimpse or two of Gunter before he left. It was like watching them pick up some discontinued but well-loved habit, and it warmed his heart to see his brother look so content.

The small argument quickly abated. Both brothers watched as Gunter wore his scabbard, the well-worn sword and leather case dangling from silver-trimmed black straps that ran twice across Gunter's waist and once over his right shoulder. It was the only object on him that didn't scream of glamor, and Conrad found its presence aptly anchoring.

Gwendal offered his arm just as Gunter ran a final, smoothing hand over the front of his robes, easing out stray creases (though the action was more to steel himself, Conrad guessed, judging from the expression on his face). His former teacher gave Gwendal a bright smile prior to accepting the proffered arm, the contrasts between their builds painfully pronounced now that Gunter was wearing something more form-fitting.

_They make a grand pair,_ Conrad thought to himself, watching the two exit the room. He wondered (not for the first time) whether these two men had already formed something binding together, away from the prying eyes of others, or if this was part of an aged dance that had yet to meet a resolution.

Conrad was just considering ducking out to avoid being the proverbial third wheel, but then Gwendal threw him a Look over his shoulder -- one that clearly said, _"You're coming, too."_ He sighed and obediently followed in the pair's steps.

As they walked through the hall that led outside, Gwendal called the attention of a passing guard and ordered him to ready Conrad's horse and a carriage for departure. The pair began discussing the current state of Celadonia and what to expect upon arrival ("Assuming you arrive on time and you're not barricaded from the harbor," Gwendal reminded with ill-temper), and both at times turned to Conrad for a question or two on his experiences there. Conrad felt mildly embarrassed that he had very little to add -- he'd only been in that country briefly, and it was during a task for King Belal -- but what he had to contribute, they seemed to find sufficient.

In the courtyard, Gwendal joined Gunter in the carriage, their conversation unhindered. Conrad took to his mount and waited for the carriage to move before he urged his own horse onward, content to keep trailing after the pair. A small window afforded him a minuscule of the passengers, and he wasn't sure, but there didn't seem to be much discourse after the first mile of the journey had passed.

Within the third mile, he saw Gunter lay his head on Gwendal's side, his position angled that he might watch the passing scenery through the side window. Gwendal's arm moved to settle across the slimmer form, though Conrad could only see the top of his bare palm from where he rode, his brother's hand looking large and proprietary above Gunter's rounded left shoulder.

Gunter seemed to put in the odd comment or two during the journey, for sometimes Gwendal would bow his head lower, as if to catch something he was saying. At times, the silver-haired head would turn to look at Gwendal's face, and Conrad could hear the faint traces of his former teacher's laughter drifting from the small opening.

Tall masts heralding Shin Makoku's grand fleet loomed in the horizon. In the distance, Conrad spotted the ship designated for Gunter's departure -- a fast vessel already sporting a humble band of soldiers awaiting orders. He felt a measure of sympathy for the poor souls, having been made to wait as they were. Conrad spurred his horse and circumvented the carriage, riding ahead to make himself a little more useful and ascertain whether the preparations were in place.

It was another five minutes' wait before the carriage arrived at the dock. Gunter and Gwendal seemed to have started up something of an argument within that span of time, the tell-tale crease prominent in Gwendal's brow despite the distance. Conrad winced as he saw that Gunter was displaying his apprehension more vocally than he did earlier in his room.

"There's really no need for this," he heard his brother's hard voice, as the two walked to where Conrad was waiting by the stairs leading up to the ship. "If you're uncomfortable--"

"I'm not," Gunter interrupted, walking a few steps ahead. "I'm not!" He paused, his eyes locking onto the ship and taking in the sight of the awaiting crew. "...Maybe just a little. Oh, I'm such a wreck! I'm glad His Majesty isn't here to see me like this!"

Conrad felt a prickle of panic when he saw tears gathering in Gunter's eyes. He quickly glanced at his brother, but the latter didn't at all seem perturbed. "You'll be fine," Gwendal assured, his hand on Gunter's back guiding (or pushing, it was a little hard to tell) Gunter toward the stairs.

"I'm old! I'm out of practice!" Gunter's hands were cradling his face, and he was now bemoaning his state all over the base of the stairs. "I'm old and out of practice, this is going to be a disaster!"

Behind his former teacher, Conrad could clearly see Gwendal's sharp glare aimed at his direction. He cleared his throat, and obligingly said, "You'll be fine." Goosebumps rose on his skin as the glare intensified, and he hastily added, "And you're not old."

He didn't know why Gwendal thought that was worth bothering with, considering Gunter didn't even appear to be listening. The other man had started to ascend the stairs, still looking a little off but more in control of himself. He paused a few steps in and said over his shoulder, "Neither of you are allowed to be upset with me if this doesn't work."

The soft, disbelieving snort that Gwendal gave was hardly audible as the dockworkers began to untether the ship. "They're fools if they say no to you," he said in reply, standing beside Conrad by the time he finished. "Be sure to correspond with Yozak once you're there."

As soon as Gunter was well within the ship, the stairs were removed and the ramp pulled up. Both Conrad and Gwendal drew back to avoid the spray of saltwater as the ship began to move, and Gunter's yelled, "Of course! Don't forget Greta's cookies!" was nearly drowned out by the deafening creak of waterlogged-wood sliding away from the harbor.

Conrad watched the departing vessel with a sinking feeling that this would be a familiar sight for the next few months -- complete with preparations, histrionics, disgruntled soldiers, and all. Although he didn't really mind all that much; Gunter's episode today was fairly tame compared to those involving Yuuri. And if Gunter had more outfits like the one he was wearing today sequestered within his dusty closet, well...

He was suddenly aware of someone else's gaze on him, and he turned to see his brother watching him closely. Before Conrad could ask what the matter was, Gwendal turned his attention back to the empty dock and said, affecting a disinterested tone of voice, "The tailors should be arriving in a few minutes." Conrad said nothing in reply, finding it an odd comment. Gwendal continued, "If you wish to assist me in selecting new outfits for Gunter, you're welcome to."

He was glad his brother couldn't see the knowing smile that curved his lips. Sometimes, it was easy to remember why they were siblings. "I believe I can spare an hour or two."

Fin.


End file.
